Promise Me
by TCMMerida
Summary: Promises are one of the hardest things to keep. When Natasha's friend Clint makes a promise to her, she soon discovers to what length he is willing to go.


Natasha starred into the smoke which hung lifelessly in the air. Her entire body ached, blood oozed from several gashes which she had attained through an intense battle with some local Hungarian thugs. She limped along the alleyway, desperately trying to clear her mind of what had all happened in the last twenty-four hours, however the sirens wailing in the distance made it hard for even the most skilled assassins to make logic out of chaotic circumstances.

A day earlier, she had been sent out from S.H.I.E.L.D with what seemed to be straightforward assignment—take out a few key players in a weapons dealership operating from Budapest. The mission had started out as a solo, need to know operation; Clint hadn't seen it that way. He had followed her to Hungary in an individual flyer and had been assisting her in her operation. It had worked fairly well, up until the moment that the local barbarians had caught wind of some foreigners trying to shake up the powers that be in the area. The result had sent the entire mission sideways and several civilians were endangered and or hurt. Clint fought bravely, standing next to Natasha's side against the waves of fighters that charged against the. Adversity never seemed to shake him, that was possibly the thing that Nat admired the most about him; his ability to decide his own limits, to not let others control his own convictions.

The fight wasn't the flawless, well thought out tactical genius that Natasha normally coordinated for herself; it was rushed, sloppy and ultimately involved more people that she wanted to deal with. At the end of it all, she had completed her mission with the somewhat subtle elimination of the gang leaders, however it had cost her more than she had bargained for. As this was her first assignment with S.H.I.E.L.D, she feared her reputation would be stained, or worse yet, that the director Nick Fury would take back his word to keep her past hidden.

When she had first been brought into S.H.I.E.L.D by Clint, whom was originally sent out to assassinate her, he made Nick swear an oath that the organization would protect Natasha, judge her not on her past but only on her future with the cooperation. Nick had accepted, however many others in the operation had disagreeing viewpoints. When they confronted him on his convictions, Clint had refused to give details on what had changed his mind when he met Natasha. Reflecting on it, it remained a mystery to Natasha as to why he had changed his mind. She knew he could kill, he couldn't miss. What had made him change his mind?

She quieted her thoughts as she emerged from the alley and sat herself down on a curbside, across from a few shops that decorated the European streets. The city was beautiful, tall buildings decorated with different shades of brick. Flowers laced the walls of the streets, colourful shops lined the narrow streets. People walked their dogs in the final light of day, the scene was so peaceful, Natasha couldn't help but wonder how these people would view her if she told them that she had killed half a dozen men just a few blocks away. S.H.I.E.L.D had already been contacted and formed a cover story that some local gangs got into a fight; apparently that was a common enough thing for the city, as no civilians seemed to bat an eyelash when several dozen police vehicles arrived at the scene. Perhaps it was a good thing that she had fled the scene when she did, otherwise the questioning process would have become very complicated, especially if the local authorities realized that this was a matter of international security; not just a few lowlifes who were off on something.

The one drawback to her sudden retreat was that Clint had a similar idea and they had run off in different directions, now they were apart in a vast city. She felt alone, but unafraid. After spending all day with that man, she realized that not only was he a phenomenal hunter, he was an unparalleled tracker; if anyone could find their way back to her, it was Clint.

Across the street from her, a stray dog barked. Natasha smiled and clicked her tongue, urging for the dog to approach. The dog happily barked and ran over to her, covering her face with doggy kisses. Natasha let a small laugh escape from her lips as she played with the canine.

"Yeah, you're a good boy," she whispered in a baby voice. "Who wants a belly rub?"

"Well, know that you mention it, that battle did take a lot out of me," a familiar voice sounded from behind her. Natasha whipped her head around to see Clint standing at the edge of a building, leaning casually against the wall. His eyes danced playfully in the dim streetlight.

"Who's this little guy?" Clint asked excitedly as he ran over and petted the dog. Although he significantly older than a teenager, seeing him with the dog seemed to melt ten years of stress and sorrow off of his face.

"Just a stray that was around here," Natasha answered. She then turned and punched Clint in the arm.

"Ow, hey!" Clint whimpered, although the hit was more toward his ego more than his physical being.

"Where were you?" She accused, petting the dog.

"On the phone with Fury. He wasn't too impressed when he found out that I had followed you here. He really le me have it."

"You had it coming."

"I know, but it was worth it," Clint softly said, brushing the dog slower than before. He looked at Natasha curiously, studying her expression. His eyes were firm but gentle, they seemed to be peeling off the layers of hardened emotion that Natasha had built throughout her years of training. "Nat, I made you a promise when I met you. I wasn't going to kill you; I was and am going to protect you. That promise isn't going to die unless I die with it."

Natasha hardened her expression and focused on the dog who was flicking his tail with elation. Her heart beat rapidly as she fought to hold back tears. She had forgotten what it was like to have someone to care for, to look after. Emotion was weak, men were the root of weakness; at least that is what she had been taught. She wasn't a damsel in distress, she could save herself.

"I don't need your promises," she croaked, standing to her feet and marching down the narrow road. The sounds of a whimpering dog faded as she made her way down the street. The scuffling of shoes sounded on her right and she felt herself being turned forcefully in the direction of her confronter. Clint stood next to her and he placed his hands firmly on her shoulders.

"Nat, look at me," he demanded. "Protection doesn't mean that you are weak, it simply means someone cares enough for you to risk their own safety to ensure yours. You are the strongest, most talented assassin I have ever met. When I say I will protect you, I'm not saying you need protection. I'm saying that I see that you are alone, and loneliness is the greatest battle we all face. I want to walk with you into battle, to be your friend, to watch your back. I know you would do the same for me."

"You're awful quick to chose your loyalties," Natasha pushed passed him and quickened her pace.

"You're right," he responded. Natasha turned to see him standing about a hundred feet away from him. He shrugged his shoulders. "But you are asking the wrong question."

Natasha arched an eyebrow. Her instincts screamed at her to run, get away from this overzealous man; however, something in his voice enticed her. She wanted to stay, she wanted to know more.

"And what question would that be, Barton?" She mused, curling her lip into a playful smirk.

He returned the teasing smile and walked up to her.

"You're a smart woman," he assured her. "You don't need to know the question to figure out the answer."

Natasha starred at him for a moment, then grabbed his left arm and twisted it to his back, forcing him to be down on his knees.

"Nat, come on!" Clint begged. "We were having a moment!"

"Yeah, I wasn't the one who ruined it," she retorted. She relinquished her grip and he stretched his arm, examining it to make sure it was in place.

"Touché," Clint nodded, shaking his arm, satisfied that it was still in tact. "The jet is ready to take us back home when you are ready?"

"Home?" Natasha echoed, letting the word linger for a moment.

"Yeah, New York City," Clint put his arm around Nat, giving her an encouraging hug. Normally she would have brushed him away, but as he had said, it had been a long day.

"New York City," she repeated. "You're right, let's go home."

Two years later, Natasha sat in her New York City apartment, flipping through pages of her old journal. She wasn't into sentiment, but keeping record of her thoughts helped her hold onto the real Natasha Romanoff, not the one track minded killing machine the KGB had created her to be. Stars were blotted out by streetlights, but the noise of the city reassured Nat that she always knew where she was. She knew this is where she belonged.

Her fingers riffled through the pages of her journal, she breathed in the scent of the parchment. Some of the entries dated back all the way to her days directly after the Red Room. She had dared not keep a journal there, or else they would have burned it as well with anything else Natasha would dared to have called her own. She lay herself down on her bed and stared at the ceiling, combating the haunting memories that drifted across her waking eyes.

Just outside her window, a shadow moved swiftly past her window. Natasha bolted out of bed, whipped out her knife and threw open her window, leaping onto the fire escape. She thrust her knife against the figure, who was clad in dark purple and black. A white smile sparkled in the moonlight, and her attacker gently pushed the knife away from his throat.

"Good to see you too Nat," Clint joked. He sat down on the fire escape and motioned for her to do the same.

"There is a front door you know," Natasha reminded him, folding the knife and shoving it into her jacket pocket. She sat down two steps beneath him. It had been a few months since she had last seen him, from what he had been able to tell her, he had been gathering some information on a mysterious object called the Tesseract. Nick had nearly held him as prisoner at work with the amount of time Clint spent there. Whenever Natasha would try to question about the Tesseract, Nick would give her a few details, but he assured her that the less she knew, the safer she would be keeping Clint.

Now it all seemed surreal; Clint sitting in front of her in his _Hawkeye_ suit, neither of them in a situation where death was on the line. These moments were few and far between, but Natasha cherished them. Clint had not only become her partner at work, but her best friend in real life, which had lead them into some hilarious situations. One of her recent favourites had been when they were chasing after some spies, but during the car chase, Clint took a quick trip to Starbucks because he claimed he was too exhausted to fight without his caffeine. Natasha laughed to herself, yeah, this guy was a dork, but he was her dork.

"Nat," Clint breathed, the cool night air turned his words into steam which rose above them. His hands fidgeted as he seemed to be cupping them around something. His eyes flickered all over the place, sometimes meeting Natasha's but refusing to hold a gaze.

Natasha laid a hand on his knee reassuringly. Her concern grew for him, she had never seen him like this before and it was unsettling.

"Clint, what's wrong?" She calmly inquired. Although her nature was to be harsh, she found it so easy to be vulnerable with him. He was the only man she had shown any vulnerability to whom had lived to tell the tale.

Clint chuckled and folding his hands again. He raised his eyes to meet hers and placed one of his hands on hers.

"Remember Budapest?" Clint verbalized. His anxiety began to ebb away as his thoughts seemed to align with his intentions of visiting.

"Yeah, of course. Our first mission together, well, unofficially together."

"Remember the promise I made you?"

Natasha looked at him, at his hands and forced herself to remain calm.

"Clint, where are you going with this?" She stood up and backed down a few steps, the night air became alarmingly frigid and her palms began to sweat. Clint looked confused for a second, then he looked at his hands which were still grasping something. Realization dawned on his face.

"Woah, Nat, no! No I am not proposing to you!" He reached out his arm in objection, attempting to stifle a laugh. He then held out a little black box.

"It's a gift, to remind you of the promise I made to you in Budapest. That you are my best friend, no matter what," he stepped down the staircase and took Natasha's hand and gently placed the box into her hands.

She fondled the box, the velvet on the outside was smooth to the touch. She opened it and inside was a simple necklace; a silver arrow on a chain.

"You got me a necklace of your symbol," she determined. Natasha lifted the chain out of the box and watched the lights reflect off of it.

"Cheesy?" He probed.

"I love it," she admitted. She handed it over to Clint as she brushed her hair aside, turning her back towards him. Clint stepped right behind her and reached around her neck, placing the necklace around her. His arms lingered for a moment before he retracted. Natasha looked at him solemnly.

"You're about to do something incredibly stupid, aren't you?"

Clint laughed and shifted his weight from leg to leg.

"Depends on who you ask, but what I say next, I need you to remember, okay?"

"Okay."

"Promise me?"

"With my life," the sincerity in Natasha's voice surprised herself.

Clint grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close.

"In Budapest, I made a promise to protect you. So I am here to ask for your forgiveness."

Natasha shot him a confounded look.

"What have you done Clint?"

Clint pulled her close and kissed her softly. He pulled away and spoke swiftly.

"It's nothing I have done, it's something that I am about to do," he blinked. "It will ensure your safety, permanently."

Natasha looked at him wistfully.

"Clint?" she whimpered.

"I shouldn't have kissed you," he confessed. He walked to the edge of the fire escape and jumped off the side, landing gracefully on the ground below.

"Clint Barton!" She called angrily. She stormed into her room and sat down on the bed. She touched the necklace with her fingers. _It's something I am about to do._ Clint had done some pretty stupid things before, it worried her as to what this man could have been asked to do that would secure her safety—more importantly, what could secure it permanently?

All these thoughts swam around in her head until she lay down on her bed and surrendered to her emotional exhaustion, drifting into sweet unconsciousness.

Three weeks passed before Natasha heard anything from Clint. She had tried to find him the day after their meeting on the fire escape, but Nick had said he had gone somewhere on personal terms. She hadn't relented her search for him, she even went as far as checking the S.H.I.E.D database to see if any reports had been filed since his disappearance, but all remained void.

Around three o'clock in the afternoon, Natasha was coming back from her daily run and stopped by the post office to pick up the mail. She jiggled her key into the slot and swung open the miniature door. She fished out the mail and tucked them into her jogging jacket.

The winter air was refreshing for her run, but she was quite happy to be back inside her apartment. She tossed the mail onto her dining table and walked over to the fridge to grab a drink of orange juice. After pouring herself a glass, she decided to address the pile of bills on her table. She rifled though them; water bill, electricity bill, credit card fees, useless junk mail. She scooped it all up to throw it into the garbage when a smaller yellow envelope fell out of the collection.

Natasha bent down and plucked up the envelope. The return address wasn't listed, but it was addressed to her. The writing was in a neat cursive, most likely composed by a woman. The postage stamp showed that it was from somewhere within the United States. She ran her fingers along the edges of the envelope and peeled off the seal. She dumped the contents of the envelope onto the table. A small card was inside. She turned it over and began to read. After reading the front of the card, her face twisted in bitterness and disbelief, for on the card was written as follows:

 _You are invited the marriage between Clinton Francis Barton and Laura Clarkson._

"Oh Clint, how could I ever forgive you for this," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. She tore the invitation and threw it into the garbage where it would remain untouched.


End file.
